


we grew up in the suburbs, then we cut all our ties

by lifetimeoflaughter



Series: counterparts. (alternatively, through the looking glass) [5]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supergirl - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Carol Danvers & Tony Stark Friendship, DC/Marvel crossover, Extended Families, Family, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Minor Jeremiah Danvers, No beta we die like Tony Stark in endgame, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29590170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifetimeoflaughter/pseuds/lifetimeoflaughter
Summary: “Hey Carol,” Kamala says, turning to look at her.“Yeah?”“Do you have cousins?”A simple question from a friend; a spiraling quest to find family. Carol's missed out on too much to let this slip through her fingers, too.
Relationships: Alex Danvers & Carol Danvers, Avengers Team & Carol Danvers, Carol Danvers & Kara Danvers, Carol Danvers & Tony Stark
Series: counterparts. (alternatively, through the looking glass) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962808
Comments: 17
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I'm back with yet another mishmash of canon and copyright (aka a game I liked to call "how many fics can I justifiably put Kamala Khan into?"); this time, I'm borrowing from the CW's Supergirl. I originally wasn't going to include the CW versions of these characters, but I genuinely can't imagine a Kara Danvers without an Alex Danvers, so here we are. 
> 
> as usual, both the Avengers and the Justice League exist, alongside all the villains/minor heroes/vigilantes/kiddie teams from both universes. hope you enjoy!
> 
> special thanks to [The_fake_KamalaKhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_fake_KamalaKhan/pseuds/The_fake_KamalaKhan) for suggesting this idea <3
> 
> *title taken from Witches by Good Kid

“-so anyway, I’m gonna be like, _super-duper_ -busy this whole next week, ‘cause I got family coming to town, and like, my mom’s gonna be all, _Kamala, go watch your cousins while your khalas and I gossip,_ and so I’m probably gonna have to cut back on the super-heroics for a bit,” sighs Kamala, kicking her legs exasperatedly against the building they’re sitting on.

Carol throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, kid. Don’t worry,” she says, pulling Kamala in for a quick one-armed hug, knuckling her on the head. “I’ve got you covered. I’ll get Tony to keep an eye out for any major crime. He can do that thing where he beams himself down-what do you youngins’ call ‘em again, holly-grams?”

Against her side, she can feel Kamala groan. “Carol, _ohmygod._ You’re not that old. You _literally_ can’t age.”

“Gotta embarrass you somehow, short stuff. Anyway. Don’t stress about Jersey, FRIDAY’ll take care of it. You know how she loves scaring people.”

Kamala grins. “Thanks, Carol.”

They sit there in comfortable silence, Kamala leaning back on her hands to take in the sunset. The summer sun melts like gold, the rays casting the kid’s dark eyes in a shade of brilliant amber as they widen at the beauty before them, and not for the first time Carol feels her heart squeeze in a surge of protectiveness. 

She valiantly resists the urge to send Kamala home and remind her to do her homework and instead opts for another mischievous hair-ruffle that makes Kamala scrunch up her nose in mock-annoyance. 

“I better get going,” she says. “My turn to cook at the Tower tonight.”

“Try not to set the kitchen on fire again,” says Kamala with a smirk. Carol flicks her ear.

“That was _once_ , kid. Don’t let Stark fool you. He’s _way_ worse than I am.”

Despite announcing her intentions to leave, Carol ends up sitting there until the sky overhead is a pretty shade of indigo. It’s been a while since things have been this calm, and she misses hanging out with Ms. Marvel. 

“Hey Carol,” Kamala says, turning to look at her.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have cousins?”

The question catches her off-guard. “Do I-” Before she can answer, the kid’s phone goes off, the beginning riff from some indie song. She holds her hand up apologetically and mouths _sorry_ , pointing at her phone, before jumping up and pacing on the rooftop.

From where she’s sitting on the lip of the building, she can see Kamala waving her hands around dramatically. The wind carries over snippets of conversation, though it’s pretty obvious Kamala’s arguing about something with Mrs. Khan. 

“-ut we cleaned _yesterday_ , Ammi! Yes, yes, I _know_ dust doesn’t take days off- okay, but this time- you’re making _rasmalai?!_ Without _me?!_ _Ammi_!” 

Carol hides her smile behind her hand and waves goodbye when Kamala spins around and mimes having to leave. She watches the kid step off the building, still squabbling good-naturedly with her ma, and stands up to leave too. No point in hanging around all alone when there were several superheroes waiting for stir-fry back at the Tower.

* * *

Dinner goes smoothly enough. Bruce is openly appreciative of her work, and Steve gives her a Captainly Nod of Approval. Rhodey winks at her flirtatiously, and she blows him a kiss back. Tony remarks on how she scored a perfect 10 on the Not-Having-To-Call-911 scale, so she smacks him upside the head with a towel. 

The atmosphere is light and fun, buoyed along by Thor’s stories of conquest and victory (which they’ve all heard before, but no one has the heart to interrupt him) and Jennifer keeps passing him more beer, so there’s no chance that they’ll be getting up anytime soon. 

As Thor flings his arms wide open, describing yet another gargantuan creature that they had found deep in the forests of Asgard, Carol scoops up everyone’s plates and heads to the kitchen to start clean-up. Not that she _has_ to, per se, but hey, scrubbing skillets was definitely cheaper than having Tony pay for therapy.

Rushing water from the faucet is almost loud enough to drown out the team’s raucous laughter at Thor’s retelling of yet another ‘Get Help’ scenario that he’d acted out with Loki when they were kids. (Kids. What was that, in Earth years? A thousand-and-something, right?) It’s also almost loud enough to leave the gentle touch on her shoulder go unnoticed, but not quite. She slows the faucet and looks down to face the Black Widow standing next to her, still as a statue. 

Carol is taller than Natasha. This has been, and always will be, true, much in the same way that the grass is green and the sky is blue. Carol stands at 5 11”, about half an inch shorter than Steve. Natasha is more Kamala’s height - a petite, teenager-y 5 4”. Where Carol is brute force and sheer power, Natasha is efficiency and grace and control. It suits her, thinks Carol, even now, as she lifts herself onto a nearby counter to stare at Carol with those intensely green-blue eyes.

She doesn’t say anything. She just sits there in her black leggings and an oversized hoodie, and Carol turns back to the sink, trying in earnest to scrub the grease off the pan. She can feel Natasha’s eyes on her back - not judgemental, just curious, - and she scrubs harder, but the sheen of oil still glistens rainbow under the lamp above her head. Her hair falls in her face and she growls in annoyance. Stupid skillet. Stupid oil. 

She slams the faucet off in time to hear another chorus of laughs come from the dining room, followed by a loud crash and Jennifer yelling “I’m okay!” and something inside her feels brittle, like an orange peel left in the sun for too long. 

“FRIDAY,” she says, looking to the ceiling, “could you please start up the dishwasher?”

Natasha hops cleanly off the marble counter, the soft lighting of the kitchen making her movements seem even more fluid than usual. She walks soundlessly to the sink and takes the dishwasher’s slowly opening door as a cue to hold out her hand for a plate, which Carol hands to her without a word. They work in tandem to load the dishwasher, half-listening to Thor recount his first attempt at wooing the fair Lady Sif - something that involved much hand-to-hand combat and what sounded like immense quantities of Asgardian wine. 

“-maybe I should try that on Pep sometime. ‘Course, she’ll probably beat me at the hand-to-hand part of the thing,” mutters Tony, presumably to Rhodey.

The skillet is the only thing left in the sink once Nat closes the dishwasher with a gentle _click_ , and as Carol goes to pick it up, Natasha stops her with a gentle hand on her wrist.

“Let me,” she says, not unkindly, and Carol steps back with a sheepish dip of her head, leaning against the counter as the rush of the faucet rises in volume once more. 

They stand there in silence, only Natasha’s shoulders moving as she scrubs the pan in tight, efficient circles. Carol tips her head against the wall cupboard and closes her eyes, only to open them once more when she hears Tony start placing bets on who, between Steve and Rhodey, was more likely to win something (the aforementioned arm-wrestling contest).

The faucet turns off, and Natasha turns around to face her. 

“You wanted to say something. Go ahead,” she gestures in front of her, “say it.”

Carol wants to say she hasn’t been caught off-guard by this, but she’d be kidding absolutely no one. “You...you have a family, right?” 

That didn’t come out right. 

Natasha blinks thoughtfully, once, twice, and tilts her head towards the dining room, her mouth an approximation of a smile. “They are my family,” she says simply, her blue-green gaze lazily intense in the soft light. 

Carol crosses her arms and her chest goes tight, looking back at their friends. She’s suddenly unable to meet Nat’s eyes. “Yeah. I mean, me too. Like. Them-they’re my family too. I love them more than anything. It’s just- what about blood family? Do you- do you have that? Like, Rhodey has a whole family that basically adopted Tony, and Thor’s got Loki, and Bruce’s got Jen - what about you?” 

That _definitely_ didn’t come out right.

Natasha blinks once more and turns back to the sink to resume her cleaning. Nothing about her demeanor changes, but the air grows stale between them. _Great job, Carol_. “I don’t mean to pry, I just- it’s been a long time since I thought about my family, cause my dad’s dead, and, uh, so’s my ma, and I-” her voice trails off into nothingness.

“I had a family, once. A sister. A mother and a father - or something like that.” There’s no malice in Natasha’s tone, nor any frigidity, just the simple statement of a fact. 

The faucet turns on again, and Carol bites her lip. 

“What if - hypothetically, if you had other people from your past that might be-that might become family. If you had the chance to find them- would you-would you take it?”

Natasha does not look up from her place at the sink, her red hair bobbing gently as she rinses off the pan. “I think,” she says quietly, reaching for the dishcloth, “my answer would be very different to yours.”

Carol doesn’t say anything.

“But,” she says, turning around to face Carol, “part of the gift of being an individual is being able to play the game of life on your own unique terms. The luxury you- you _specifically,_ have here is that this will never, _ever_ be a win-lose game for you, do you understand? What could you possibly lose by gaining more people to love?”

It’s a fact as old as the both of them that Natasha is shorter than Carol and always will be, but Carol’s never felt smaller than she does right now, under the hauntingly wise gaze of a woman who stands like she’s lived a thousand lifetimes. 

She flicks the cloth around the edges of the skillet once more and then hands it off to Carol. The matt base gleams cleanly, with not a single smear of oil in sight. Carol runs her hand over it in wonder. “How...how did you get it so clean?”

Natasha looks at her over her shoulder, an amused smile playing on her lips. “You forgot to use the soap,” she says, and walks soundlessly back to the team. 

* * *

“I need help,” says Carol.

“Welcome to the club,” replies Tony without missing a beat.

It’s currently twelve twenty-three a.m., and after much tossing and turning upstairs in her bed, Carol had made the decision to not put off what could be done today for tomorrow (technically she’d made this decision before the clock had struck twelve, so it _had_ been delayed till tomorrow, but whatever.) This decision had found her standing at the threshold of Tony’s workshop in a well-worn pair of pajama pants and an old (vintage?) Air Force t-shirt, trying to figure out how to phrase her question. 

Tony spins around from his latest tinkering project to meet Carol’s eyes with a softer version of his trademark smirk, wiping the grease from his hands. He gestures to a seat near him, one often occupied by Peter when he swings by the tower. “Sit.”

Carol obliges. The smooth floor is cold beneath her bare toes as she settles onto the (surprisingly plush) seat and absently swivels it this way and that, her fingers locked and palms sweating in nervousness for the favor she’s about to ask for. 

Tony studies her, his head tilted like a bird. “So, Captain, my Captain, what seems to be the problem? I assume you don’t need me to build a nightlight for you, ‘cause you’re-” he vaguely gestures at all of her “-glow-in-the-dark, so.”

Carol blinks. Takes a deep breath. 

“I need to find my family,” she says.

A heavy silence falls thick on the darkened lab. There’s a small 3-D printer still running in the far corner, the whirring of the machine the only other sound echoing in the space. Tony squints at her, hands busy polishing a screwdriver. His eyes are sharp, cautious, and they never leave hers. 

“FRIDAY,” he says, speaking over his shoulder, still not breaking eye-contact, “open file on Avengers Member: Carol Danvers, most recently updated version. Section: relatives, subsection: alive.”

“ _Certainly, Boss. Captain Danvers currently has one half-brother, named Joseph Danvers Jr. Would you like me to contact him?”_

“Hold off on that for now, Fri, thanks. I assume,” he says, when Carol stays silent, “that that was not the family you meant. If you’re looking on the blue-blooded side of your family, I can’t exactly help you.” His hands slow down as the cloth squeaks against the metal of the screwdriver. He brings it up to the light of his workstation and examines it carefully, looking for blemishes on the stainless steel.

“My father had a cousin. Much younger than him - uh, he would’ve been twelve when my dad was twenty.” Tony looks at her curiously, eyebrows furrowed, lines indented around his mouth in thought.

“Do you have a name for this mystery man?” Tony’s already spun around, rag and screwdriver discarded to start typing on his holo-screen. “Finding your pop’s kid cousin’d be a hell of a lot easier if I knew _who_ I was looking for.”

“See- that’s the problem. He was a lot younger than my father, and once Dad started drinking the rest of the family cut him off almost entirely. I don’t even know his name,” she admits, feeling a bit stupid now. What are the odds that they’d actually be able to find him?

Tony spins around to face her, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “So what you’re saying is - you have no idea who or where this man is _and_ whether he knows you exist or not.”

Carol shifts in her seat. “Basically,” she confirms.

Tony considers this. Then he jumps up and claps his hands. “Right.”

He walks over to the main console and sits, stretching his hands out in front of him, and Carol winces when she hears every muscle in his fingers pop. “If I’m gonna be searching for a while, I’d prefer to do it as efficiently as possible,” he says, gesturing at the multiple screens surrounding him. “FRIDAY, be a dear and open the entirety of Danvers’s family file?”

“ _On it, Boss_.” The main screen lights up with a list, and Carol gets up to hunch over arms crossed on the back of Tony’s chair. From her improved up-close-and-personal view, she can see her family listed, classified in next-of-kin order - her mother, her brothers, her father - even her grandparents. But the list ends there, and Carol can feel something akin to disappointment flooding her heart.

“So, your granddad. Military man, right? If I put his name-” Tony squints at the computer, flicking through several pages, looking for something “-into the U.S. Army Database, that _should_ give us access to... Aha! Bingo. Now we have _his_ relatives, including his brother, who happens to be a guy named William Danvers.” Tony looks up at her, an evil-genius smirk on his face. Carol stands up straight and grins back at him.

“So,” she says, “what next?”

“Well, your great-uncle was also in the Air Force. His next-of-kin isn’t listed here, though, actually, almost nothing about him is; either the files never existed, or some lazy asshole just forgot to upload the whole folder.” 

He cracks his knuckles once more. “Don’t worry, though. We have his name, and I have access to almost every bank of information that’s been digitized ever. We can start with the marriage licenses in his hometown - where’s your family based again?”

“Boston,” says Carol.

“Boston,” echoes Tony, squinting at the screen. “Okay. So we’ve got about twenty-nine women claiming to stand by a Billy Danvers in sickness and in health...seventeen of them with sons that could probably be around your father’s cousin’s age. Either all these men had terribly uncreative parents, or your uncle was really gettin’ some. Jesus, Carol. Are you sure you don’t remember anything? Anything at all that could help us narrow it down?”

She pauses for a second, a frown building on her brow. There’s something at the edges of her memory, a half-formed fragment just out of reach - something about her great aunt, something her mother had told her once-

“Carol,” she says without thinking, “look for a wife named Carol.”

Tony glances up skeptically at her, but he goes through the certificates in front of him anyway. “There’s one singular Carol in here, married to a William Danvers in 1956. These lovely young folks had a kid not too long after - 1959, a bouncing baby boy named Jeremiah Danvers, most likely your father’s baby cousin.”

She runs the name over her teeth.“Jeremiah Danvers. _Jeremiah Danvers_ ,” she repeats incredulously. It sounds too good to be true. “Where does he live now?”

Tony’s already tapping away at the keyboard, peering at the screen as the results of his search pour in. “Carol,” he says gently, turning to look up at her pityingly, “he was killed in a plane crash in 2006.”

The little sparks of hope that had been blooming to life in her heart are suddenly stamped out. “Oh,” is all she can manage to say, her voice hollow and empty. “What... What happened?”

“Something about an accident in Peru. He was on a work trip with some government agency, the DEO - hold on, how come I’ve never heard of it? There was an incident, and his body was never found.” He leans back in his chair, bouncing the back once or twice, frowning. “Something about this seems...suspicious. He did, however, leave behind a family.”

This news jolts Carol back to life, and she leans forward desperately to scan the screen. “He did? Where are they now?”

“The daughters moved to National City, but his wife still lives in Midvale.” her eyes zip over the address, trying to commit it to memory through sheer force of will. Even through her new-found grief for her lost uncle, her heart still soars with hope at the possibility of a new family.

“You could find her, talk to her. Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for,” he says with a shrug. 

“Tony,” she says, an earnest grin spreading across her face, “thank you.” She spins his chair around forcefully and wraps her arms around him, squeezing as tight as she can without turning his ribs to powder. His hands come up in surprise, and it takes him a second before he brings them down on her back, patting her gently. 

“Anytime, Ace.” A minute later, “Oo-kay, this is getting awkward. You can let go of me now, Care-Bear.”

Instead, Carol scoops up all five feet and ten inches of him and throws him over her shoulder. “It’s my turn to do you a favor,” she says calmly in response to his indignant squawking, “so I’m going to take you to bed. I don’t trust you to get any sleep otherwise.”

“Hmph. You could’ve at least asked me to dinner first,” he grumbles, and Carol pinches him on the shoulder. 

“Shut up,” she says, and predictably, he does not. In fact, he grumbles all the way up to the penthouse where he shares a bedroom with Pepper, and she dumps him in an ungainly heap right in front of their bedroom door, which opens to reveal a disheveled strawberry-blonde in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Carol?” her voice is heavy with sleep and confusion, but that trademark Pepper Potts collected-ness is still in place, like always. 

“Found something that belongs to you,” says Carol playfully, poking the pile of Tony with her big toe. Pepper gives her a grateful smile and yanks her husband up by the arm. 

“I spend an hour researching your family history, Ace, and this is the thanks I get?” he grouses, stumbling into the room. Pepper smiles apologetically. 

“Family history, huh?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe. “You find anything?”

Carol nods, a smile spreading across her face. “Gonna follow up on it tomorrow,” she replies, yawning. “I’m gonna head to bed too. Sleep well.”

Pepper waves. “Thanks, Carol. Good luck with tomorrow.” 

There’s an undeniable spring in her step as she heads back to her room, a brightness lighting up her bones, her brain chanting _Midvale, Midvale, Midvale_ , as she sinks into her sheets.

Tomorrow. Midvale.

* * *

She lands on the front lawn of a pretty white house with green tiles on the roof, and a turquoise convertible parked in the driveway, the property surrounded by green foliage. As her hair stops glowing and she touches down on the ground, she can hear the birds chirping at an almost-deafening volume, and the sunshine is so bright in the lazy blue sky that Carol has to squint as she surveys her surroundings. 

Something moves in the trees, and she turns, stepping into a fighting stance.

That’s when she hears the safety of a gun click off behind her. 

“Hands in the air, slowly, and turn around,” says a determined female voice from behind her. Carol knows that the gun can’t actually hurt her, but it never hurts to be friendly, so she follows the woman’s instructions. 

There are two women standing on the lawn. One of them - a redhead, her hair in a bob cut - is dressed casually in jeans and a flannel, and is currently pointing a .45 at her. Carol keeps her hands raised, never breaking eye-contact. The other woman, a curly-girly blonde with expressive eyes hidden behind thick frames, watches the standoff worriedly, wringing her hands. 

“Don’t. Move,” hisses the redhead.

“Mooooom!” the blonde calls anxiously over her shoulder, “We’ve got a visitor!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol meets the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update just a week later! a gift from me to you on my birthday.
> 
> this is totally un-proofread because I wrote it all today instead of studying for a math test, but I hope it still makes a decent amount of sense. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Of all the things Kara expected to see on her mother’s front lawn this Saturday morning, a _glowing woman_ _gently landing on it_ was not one of them. 

She’d just lasered that grass perfectly even just yesterday, too. How rude. 

Alex already has her gun drawn, and it takes Kara less than a millisecond to scoop her up and speed outside so she can point her DEO-regulation revolver at the strange woman currently standing with her back to them.

“Hands in the air, slowly, and turn around,” declares Alex. The woman complies, carefully, like she’s approaching a spooked animal. There’s a knowing smirk on her face, and she’s half-squinting at them through the brilliant haze of sunshine, making her look totally in control of the situation, despite having a gun pointed directly at her. Then again, if the woman could, well,  _ fly _ , it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume she also had superpowers that made her impervious to bullets. 

“Don’t. Move,” hisses Alex.

“Mooooom!” Kara yells, eyes fixed on the woman, “We’ve got a visitor!”

Her hands still in the air, she squints at them more closely. Her eyes alight on Alex first and then Kara. “Kara...and Alex Danvers?”

Her words seem to inspire a sort of blinding rage in Alex, who steps forward before Kara can stop her. “ _ Who are you _ ,” she spits, getting right up in the woman’s face, who takes it as a challenge, raising a single eyebrow and looking faintly amused. 

Kara sighs. The woman smiles- well, rather, smirks. “Captain Marvel. Nice to meet you.”

Captain  _ Marv- _ that can’t be right. The woman is dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, and sure, she’s  _ wearing  _ a Captain Marvel jacket, complete with the gold accents, but that-that’s not Captain Marvel on their lawn. It can’t be, right?

Alex doesn’t seem to think so either. “Tell us the  _ truth _ ,” she says, voice low and dangerous. 

She moves the gun so it’s perfectly aligned with Marvel’s nose, and Marvel doesn’t flinch. She just rolls her eyes instead, and says, “You  _ know _ that can’t hurt me, right?” This is, unfortunately, the truth. Marvel’s heartbeat stays steady despite the threat right in front of her. 

Unless Kara’s super-hearing is currently out of order, there’s a low-frequency buzz coming directly from her, the kind that generally indicates amplification and in turn, superpowers, like how Barry’s always vibrating at a slightly higher frequency than everyone around him. Marvel’s got that thrum of power around her,  _ in _ her every atom and cell and fiber, and she  _ knows _ that Alex’s handgun isn’t going to make a difference.

So she steps forward, and forcibly lowers Alex’s hands, and Alex glares at her. 

“Stop,” says Kara. “It’s her.”

Alex’s face cycles through several emotions, finally ending in incredulity. “How do you  _ know _ ?”

“I just...know?” she replies, shrugging sheepishly, waving her hands around her ears to indicate her super-hearing. Marvel flicks her eyes amusedly between the two.

Alex takes a long, hard, suspicious look at her, then steps back, holstering the gun. “Fine. But if you try  _ anything _ ,” she says to Marvel, letting the threat hang in the air between them. Kara puts a calming hand on Alex’s shoulder, silently willing her to dial it back before someone (Alex) gets hurt.

Marvel drops her hands, sticks them in her pockets. Nods. And then she raises her eyebrows at something behind Kara. Eliza’s standing on the porch, holding her pale green enamel coffee mug, looking distressingly shell-shocked as she takes in the scene. 

“Guess you’d better come inside, then,” says Kara lowly, tipping her head towards the door. 

* * *

“There,” says Eliza, setting down a tray of steaming mugs on the coffee table, and joining Alex on the sofa. Kara’s perched on the handle, next to Alex who’s sitting squarely in the center of the sofa, never breaking eye contact with Marvel.

“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble, Mrs. Danvers.” Marvel’s smile is a lot less cocky now, more genuine. Mom seems to like her, though, so Kara’s gonna give her the benefit of the doubt, despite what transpired outside earlier. 

“Nonsense,” says Eliza pleasantly, and Marvel leans forward to pick up a cup, “it was no trouble at all.”

There’s a small silence, and Marvel takes a sip. “This is- this is really good,” she says appreciatively. Eliza smiles. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this - didn’t mean to cause a scene outside, uh, but flying is more fun than driving. Less traffic,” she chuckles.

“I’ll bet,” says Kara with a grin. Alex glares at her.

“We sort of got off on the wrong foot, so I’d like to start over. Hi,” she reaches out a hand across the table to Alex, who looks at it like she used to look at Maxwell Lord.”I’m Carol Danvers, and I think we might be family.”

Alex’s jaw drops. Carol’s hand is still hanging there, mid-air, so Kara takes pity on her and swoops in to shake it. “Nice to meet you, Carol,” she says, “I’m Kara Danvers. This is Alex, and that’s our mom Eliza. But you...already knew that, right?”

A little indent forms between Carol’s brows as she leans back. “Sort of. But  _ you’re _ Kara and  _ she’s _ Alex- hm. That I didn’t know.”

Eliza’s looking curiously at Carol. “You must be from Jeremiah’s side of the family.”. 

Carol nods. “I’m- I heard about what happened. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, and there’s a heavy sincerity behind her words. Alex looks away, blinking hard, and Kara slides off the arm of the sofa to curl her arms around her, leaning her head on Alex’s shoulder. 

“I, um, I actually came looking for you guys because of him,” continues Carol gently, “because it took me some time - years, really - to remember my extended family. As it turns out, your father was my father’s cousin, which makes us second cousins-I think. If I’m not wrong.”

There is just  _ so much _ to unpack within those sentences, thinks Kara. Took her years to remember her family? What could she possibly have gone through to forget everyone she knew and loved? The thought makes Kara shudder. 

Alex is the first to speak up, turning to Eliza. “Dad had cousins?”

Eliza nods thoughtfully, like she’s trying to remember something. “Hold on,” she says, patting Alex’s knee and standing up. She wanders over to the living room bookshelf, still stocked with old highschool textbooks and Kara’s old romance novels and the various knickknacks they’d collected over the years, and reaches down to a selection of heavy-bound books with brown covers.  _ The photo albums _ , thinks Kara.

Her hand hovers over them until she finds a suitably ancient one and brings it back to the coffee table. “This,” says Eliza, brushing the dust off the leather front, “was your grandfather’s. I suspect there might be a few pictures of Carol in here. Let’s take a look.”

Kara’s never seen this particular album; while Eliza had updated the others even after Jeremiah’s “death”, this one had stayed shut. Probably because Mom didn’t know how to introduce a family that she was married into, but the thought makes Kara sad nonetheless - that Jeremiah disappeared before he could share these things with them, with Alex.

Eliza turns the pages, pausing here and there until she comes across an old sepia group photo, the corners faded and the images grainy. There’s a group of men, women and children posing in someone’s backyard. There’s a teen boy with dark hair with his arm around a younger blond boy, and Kara realises she’s looking at a younger Jeremiah when she hears Alex whisper “ _ Dad, _ ” reverently under her breath. Out of all the kids, there’s only one little girl - about three or four, dressed in overalls, with her wavy blonde hair scraped into pigtails - she’s holding a soccer ball and frowning at the camera. 

The picture’s labelled  _ Family Barbecue, 1971  _ in slanting, compact script. Kara looks up to see Carol gasp. “That’s you, isn’t it?” she asks, pointing at the little girl. 

“It is- that’s- that’s me,” she says breathlessly, leaning over the album to see the image more closely. Eliza shoots Kara a worried look. “That’s  _ me _ ,” says Carol again, tracing the people with her index finger. “That’s my-oh god, those are my  _ brothers _ , and my dad _ - _ ” her breath catches, and now Alex looks up worriedly, “-and Uncle Joe, and that’s-oh my god, that’s my mom, oh god,” she presses her hand to her mouth, her eyes squeezed shut, and all three of them stare at each other in slight panic. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol says, after a moment, “I just-um. I don’t have any photos of my family, anymore, and I just- I didn’t  _ realise _ that I was forgetting what they looked like, and just-” she swipes at her eyes, shaking her head. “Ahem. Excuse me. Sorry.”

“Oh honey,” says Eliza, getting up to go sit next to her, “it’s okay.” She wraps an arm around Carol and Kara sees her shoulders stiffen just the slightest bit, but then they relax when Eliza starts rubbing comforting circles on her back. Kara doesn’t say anything out loud, but internally she’s cheering her mother on, because if anyone could get an emotionally-charged superheroine to calm down in five seconds flat it figures it’d be Eliza.

She chances a look at Alex. Alex has her thinking-face on, which means that it’s time for a sister-to-sister sidebar by the sink. 

“Help me take these?” she says, nodding at the mugs on the table. Alex picks up two of them and starts heading to the kitchen, and Kara follows suit.

“So,” starts Kara, as Eliza pulls the album into her lap and starts looking through it with Carol, murmuring softly under her breath as Carol pores over the pages, “what are we thinking?”

“The DEO doesn’t have a file on her,” breathes Alex, her gaze unmoving from the living room. 

Kara rolls her eyes. “Of  _ course _ that’s what you start with,” she grumbles, reaching for the soap. 

Alex raises her eyebrows at her. “Sorry for being concerned with our  _ safety _ .”

“I’m just saying, would it kill you to give her the benefit of the doubt?”

“It actually might,” Alex counters, “she’s got  _ superpowers? _ ”

Kara raises her sudsy hands in frustration. “So do  _ I?! _ And  _ you _ pointed a  _ gun  _ at her, Alex! A  _ gun _ !”

Now Alex looks sheepish. “I wasn’t actually going to shoot her, you know,” she grouses.

Kara sighs. “Whatever. Real question - what do we tell her about Dad?”

“What do you mean? She already knows he’s ‘dead’,” says Alex confusedly.

Kara pauses. She’s unsure of how to phrase this in a way that doesn’t get her idea shot down immediately, so she stops to think, tapping one soapy finger on her chin. “She’s an Avenger, Alex. She could help us get Dad back from CADMUS - and she’d probably be happy to help too, considering she came here looking for him, sort of.” 

As expected, Alex shoots her a funny look. “You know this could still be a trick, right? Just because she’s sitting in our living room crying about old photos doesn’t automatically verify her identity  _ or _ her link to us.” 

“But she’s like, a proper hero,” points out Kara. “The DEO has no jurisdiction over Lillian and CADMUS because they aren’t technically supposed to be anything more than a monitoring agency, right? So if they did make a move against CADMUS, they’d be overstepping, like, by a  _ lot _ . I can’t do anything either, because I’m not technically registered with the government as like, a  _ hero _ hero, y’know? Kal’s working on it, but the League only has me on probationary status.”

She can almost hear the gears grinding in her sister’s head, so she continues with her argument. 

“Carol’s a certified Avenger. She’s got a whole Earth-based team at her beck and call. She could help, right?” Kara hears her words tip into her little-sister pleading voice - not that it’s ever worked on Alex, but always worth a shot - but it doesn’t seem like she’s paying attention. Her eyebrows are furrowed and she’s chewing determinedly on her lip, and one of her hands is unconsciously drifting towards her holster. 

“Alex,” says Kara, “what aren’t you saying?”

“I don’t think the timeline matches up,” Alex mutters, tearing at her bottom lip. “She’s too young to have been the girl in that photo. She should be at least fifty, but she doesn’t look a day over twenty-seven.”

“One,” Kara blinks incredulously, “that- that’s oddly specific. Two, why don’t we just  _ ask her _ ?” 

Alex gives her another funny look. “You think she’ll answer?”

Kara dries her hands and turns to lean against the sink, watching Eliza and Carol talk on the couch. “What’s the harm in trying?”

* * *

When they come back to the living room, Carol’s eyes are suspiciously red-rimmed and there’s a growing pile of tissues on the table near the now-shut album. Eliza’s face is painted in broad strokes of sympathy and worry, and she flashes them both a warning look as they sit down.

Alex ignores the warning. “Carol,” she starts, in her  _ I-am-the-interrogator-here-not-you _ voice (or as Kara likes to put it, her ‘all work and no play’ voice) “I’m going to need to ask you some questions, just so we know what’s going on here. Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Fire away,” chuckles Carol weakly, swiping at her nose. 

Alex nods. “When were you born?”

“April 24th, 1968,” she rattles off.

“So, biologically, you’re well over fifty. Correct?” The question seems a little invasive, but subtlety was never Alex’s strong suit. 

Carol nods. Alex takes this as a cue to carry on. “You, however, don’t seem to display any signs of aging. Why?”

“Being an Avenger comes with really good discounts for Botox,” says Carol seriously. At their confused-to-unamused faces, she smirks. “I’m joking. It’s a side effect of absorbing otherworldly radiation and being part-alien.” At Alex’s raised eyebrows, she clarifies “My mother was Kree.”

Eliza’s eyes flick to meet Kara’s in amusement. Kara rolls her eyes in exaggeration; she can see the similarities too, Mom. 

Alex sighs. “Okay, here’s the big one. Why did it take you ‘years’ to remember you had family?”

The air in the room grows just a little colder; despite the increased thudding of her heart, Carol looks more tired all of a sudden, curling in on herself by a fraction. Eliza puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I was in the Air Force,” says Carol quietly. “Me and my best friend. We were test pilots for Project PEGASUS, under this military scientist, uh, Wendy Lawson. 

“One day, she’s all freaked out about something, insists that we need to test drive her pet project ASAP, and I volunteer for it. But the plane- there was another ship, up there. It shot us down, and Lawson  _ died _ -, and I-” Carol buries her face in her hands, blonde hair obscuring any tears that might have been falling. She sniffles, hard, and then resumes. 

“The pilot for the other plane was Kree. He killed Lawson, and I tried to blow up my plane to kill him but Lawson’s project engine shot me with radiation instead, and- while I was out, the pilot took me back to his planet. They wiped my memory, turned me into a soldier, made me believe I was one of them, which I  _ am _ , because my mother was.

“Five years later, 1996, I end up on Earth, fighting a war with another alien race called the Skrulls, and I discovered that I was actually from here, and that I left my whole life behind. I was declared dead and everything. After getting some of my memory back, I had to go back into space to fight the Kree, and I spent several years doing that. Didn’t have much time or energy for remembering more than I did on Earth, and it’s still taking time for everything to snap back into place. They-their conditioning runs deep. Things about my past are still a little hazy, most of the time. That’s why it took so long.”

The room is silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. There’s something cold and hollow making a space for itself under her lungs, so in an effort to ignore it, Kara gets up and puts her arms around Carol, and tucks Carol’s head under her chin. “I’m so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that at all,” she says firmly. 

Carol’s hand comes up to pat her shoulder appreciatively. “Thank you. It’s been a weird couple of decades.”

“If it’s any consolation, I know what it feels like to start forgetting your family,” she says, pulling away from Carol to look her in the face. “Hurts’ something fierce, doesn’t it?”

“Your birth parents, huh? I’m sorry, Kara.” She looks so earnestly apologetic it almost hurts. “I’m sorry, once again, about Jeremiah,” Carol says to the room at large. “If only I’d known...I could’ve stopped that plane crash. You’d-both of you would still have a father, and Eliza - I’m just so sorry.” 

The room falls silent for what feels like an eternity. Outside, the breeze jangles the cheery windchimes, the mid-morning sunshine glinting off the slim metal cylinders.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Kara who broke the news. Rather, it was Alex - Alex, with all of her doubt and her skepticism and her hands interlocked in thought over her mouth throughout Carol’s story of woe - it was Alex. Kara wonders privately if it was ever really that much of a surprise. 

“You can change that,” says Alex quietly, her face carefully neutral.

“What?” says Carol.

“He’s not dead,” Alex gets up, and holds her hand out to pull Carol off the sofa. She takes it. “He’s not dead - just captured. Like you were. And you- you can help us get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmaoooo not me nerfing the DEO for narrative purposes

**Author's Note:**

> this is now a three-parter! whoop whoop! 
> 
> as always, your comments and kudos mean the whole world and more to me! tell me what you thought - I love hearing from you guys!! all my love for reading this fic.
> 
> and hey? thanks. <3
> 
> [🌠my tumblr✨](https://lifetimeoflaughter.tumblr.com/)


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